


Sins of the Father?

by Shellepink



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen, Life in the Denerim alienage, OC backstory, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shellepink/pseuds/Shellepink
Summary: When Cyrion looks at his daughter, Ila, he sees boundless imagination and curiosity, and a childlike energy that is very often in short supply in the alienage.  He fears that Adaia's lessons in knife-wielding and swordplay will destroy that creative spark in her, and resolves to speak to her on the subject.It doesn't go well...





	Sins of the Father?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little backstory for my Tabris, Ila, and her parents. It mostly focuses on Cyrion and Adaia because it seems that they have very different approaches to dealing with their position as alienage elves and that causes them to clash over how to raise their daughter. 
> 
> If anyone is interested, [here](https://lavalampelfchild.tumblr.com/tagged/ila-tabris) is her tag on my tumblr page.

Cyrion had tried to keep his reservations to himself, at first. He had tried to keep quiet as Adaia had begun to teach little Ila the skills and tricks with her knives and swords and all those other things Adaia had taken with her from her previous life.  

At first, he had even tried to watch, because it was his daughter, and he had wanted to support her as she learned.

That hadn’t lasted long.  Watching Adaia methodically go about laying the foundation that would destroy their child’s innocence, that would stamp out that inquisitive nature of hers he loved so much, dampen her spirit and crush her imagination… Cyrion had been unable to continue watching for long, so he had left.  Seeing it had only made him irrationally angry, and he should never be angry with his wife, not for trying to help their child.

He had prayed to the Maker, to Andraste, reflected by the Vhenedahl, but the anger had not left him.

He knew Adaia’s fiery nature, knew that she was enraged by the injustices the elves faced daily from the humans, and he had thought himself remarkably patient for having tolerated it as long as he had.

It seemed he was not so patient as he’d thought.

So the frustration built, and the anger with it, until one day, Cyrion saw Ila burst through the door of their home, boasting of the techniques her mother had taught her, and he could no longer stand it.

“I just don’t see why she needs to learn these things,” he said in a low voice as Adaia entered the house after Ila, proud smile on her face.

The smile fell as soon as Cyrion spoke.  Luckily, Ila had moved away from them both, distracted with practicing the movements her mother had taught her.  She’d taken up their broom and was using it as a sword.  The anger clenched in Cyrion’s chest, mixed with sadness.

Adaia looked from her daughter to her husband, drawing a guarded expression over her features.

“We’ve talked about this, Cyrion,” she replied, careful to match the quiet tone of Cyrion’s voice.  

 _At least she has some control_ , Cyrion thought cruelly.  He winced in shame as soon as the thought finished.  

“You agreed that it would be a good idea to teach her a means to defend herself—” Adaia continued, frustratingly rational, and that angered Cyrion further.

“I know!” he hissed. “But it’s—I didn’t think—”  He turned his attention back to Ila, avoiding Adaia’s gaze. Their young daughter danced about with the broom, narrating a romantic yarn about a heroic elven princess – her favorite to tell and hear – using her mother’s skills to save the alienage castle from the evil mage bandits.

Cyrion shook his head, brow furrowing.  He turned to Adaia, gesturing tersely at Ila.

“She thinks it’s no different from dancing, Adaia,” he exclaimed, voice quivering with the effort to keep quiet.  Adaia stiffened.  Cyrion kept on, “She doesn’t understand what you’re trying to teach her, she doesn’t understand that you’re teaching her to  _hurt people!_ ”

“I’m not teaching her  _to hurt people_ , I’m teaching her to defend herself!” Adaia hissed back.  

“She doesn’t need to be defended when she’s here!”  Cyrion’s voice rose for just a moment, and all it took for him to correct himself was a single flicker of Adaia’s eyes over to Ila and back.

Adaia’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.  “Tell me you’re not that naïve.”

“I—” Cyrion began, helplessly waving his hand. “I just want her to have a chance to live her life without needing to—to…” Adaia let him run out of words, silent and still, and Cyrion hated it, felt patronized and embarrassed.  The frustrated and furious sadness only pulled a tighter knot in his stomach, roiling in its own helplessness.

“I know,” Adaia replied, suddenly sounding tired. “I know what you want for her, and I want it too.  But I’m not willing to lie to either one of us about it.  The world isn’t kind to people like us, Cyrion, but that doesn’t mean we should try to hide from it.”

“Why are you yelling?”

Cyrion jumped and whirled to see Ila facing them across the room, no longer dancing, broom still in hand.  She looked between them both, and Cyrion was struck by her in that moment, a sharp girl with sharp eyes, so like her mother.  He forced a smile onto his features.

“It’s nothing, princess,” he answered brightly.  Ila’s eyes continued to flit between him and Adaia. Cyrion reached for her hand and began to lead her outside.  “Come. Let’s go find Shianni, shall we? I’m sure she’d love to see how much better you’ve gotten.”  He leaned down conspiratorially.  “Do you think she’s practiced as much as you?”

Ila puffed out her chest.

“No, she probably just kept falling over.  She’s so clumsy on her feet.”

Ila began to pull Cyrion toward the door, newfound goal in mind, showing no sign she’d ever heard her parents arguing.  As he reached the door, Cyrion turned back to glance at Adaia. His heart clenched at the look on her face.

He knew she was right about the world, he  _knew_ that.  The elves were kept down because the humans declared it, and it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair.  And no amount of quiet resistance would change that.

But why did it always have to be fighting instead?  Why did his little girl have to give up her fantasies and dreams to learn the truth?  Cyrion just wanted her to be happy, to have her place in the world, one that she deserved, without having to spill blood to get there.

Cyrion didn’t know if that made him naïve or not.

Turning his attention back to his daughter, Cyrion allowed her to lead him out of their home and into the blinding sunlight outside.


End file.
